


Catch me if I fall

by HyFrLarry1224



Category: One Direction
Genre: Angels, AngelsAreCruel, Demons, EventualLove, EventualPlot, F/F, F/M, Fallen Angel (in context), Friendship, God - Freeform, GodHasShunnedHarryAndHumans, GoodAndEvil, Heaven, HumansAreAMistake, IMSORRY, KhomoreKingdom, Kingdoms, LostAngel, Lucifer - Freeform, M/M, Multi, OthersToBeTagged - Freeform, Peasants, Souls, SweetButShyHarry, UndefinedTimeEra, UnwantedHarry, WantingToBelong, angel!Harry, human!Louis, innocentlove, powerful!Harry, princelouis, slowbuild, tagstobeadded
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-30 20:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17835950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyFrLarry1224/pseuds/HyFrLarry1224
Summary: Harry isn’t wanted. Or rather, he doesn’t have a place he belongs. Meant to wander the earth alone, seeking comfort from strangers as he fights the role he was born into; a powerful angel meant to  become his father's best soldier— his strongest asset. But what happens when Harry, if only for a little while, leaves behind all his responsibilities and seeks refuge on earth?Will he find all the answers to his questions there, or is he simply destined to be alone for eternity?A lost angel seeking companionship.





	1. Will the humans accept him?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [closetedlarrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/closetedlarrie/gifts).



> Hiiii! This is my first solo work in a long time, and let me tell you, I am a PROUD mama. Literally. Not to mention my beautifully platonic WIFE is my biggest freaking Stan and has helped me so much, in so many ways. She’s pushing me y’all, so shoutout to Em, the co-writer to Say my name that is also on this account. Check out her profile, y’all. Or our story. It would be greatly appreciated!! 
> 
> The plot on this is still developing but I have a beautiful story planned out, so be prepared. 
> 
> Kudos, bookmarks and comments are always appreciated. 
> 
> Much love, 
> 
> Xx.

There has always been that notion that Angels were born to be good, and Demons bad. For thousands of years, through the rising and falling of many religions and cities and homes made of rubble; the bad was a suffocating cloud just out of reach, thought to be missing because prayers were thick whispers around ignorant ears. All was truly thought to be so simple, divided down a line and if one ever dared cross it, they automatically belonged to the other side.   
  
Or, in rare cases, were shunned entirely.    
  
Left to spend their lives alone, praying for death, for that end that would bring them peace and if they were immortal, they were sentenced to a life of never belonging. Believing you could change was a fools dream. Believing you could have both was pure ignorance on your part.    
  
Because, well, because believes were wrong, and have always been wrong.    
  
Freewill was a child’s fantasy, no more real than the idea of god and Jesus that the humans had created as a comfort; a blanket that blinded the ugliness of the real world. Being allowed to think you had control of your own thoughts and actions was more comforting than grasping the strings tied like cobras around your wrist, grip relenting, proving you were no more than a puppet on your masters strings.    
  
Meant to do as he asked.    
  
To please him, always him- no one else but him.    
  
Harry has learned his role long before he’d learned who he really was. His wings were white, automatically proving he was innocent, made of light, bound to spend his life in heaven amongst his siblings, all baring similar wings but his were always destined to be different. Unique. His feathers soft and fuzzy, displaying his lack of title and purpose.   
  
He was made as a fluke, entirely too powerful yet too ditzy to accept the extent of his true powers. His father made it his mission to train Harry, and when that failed, he had his best men make attempts at cracking the young angels ever advancing walls; but like a tale as old as time, never changing and never having room for improvement, Harry remained blissfully unaware and soft.    
  
Never allowing the darkness inside of all the other angels minds, inside his own. Choosing to rather hide in the garden, where the flowers were a comfort and the clouds softer than any other place in heaven.    
  
Until there, too, he became shunned. He wasn’t welcomed in heaven because he was too different, too soft, long curls with lilac flowers entwined in them too girly even for a male angels standards. He was meant to be strong, be fierce, but it seemed as if all that seeped out of his bones and he was left with nothing more than an unfiltered admiration for the very thing his family had attempted to make him despise.    
  
Humans.    
  
The creatures made simple but were actually complex beings wrapped up in too many emotions to truly understand and grasp.    
  
In a world not made of black and white, light and dark, gold and murky, he liked to believe that earth adapted to that simplicity and that’s why they were able to live in such harmony. Casualties limited to hundreds rather than thousands; souls lights flickering in the sky rather than a blanket of flashing colors as they descended to hell, or rose to heaven. He remembered when he’d watched more souls enter in a day than leave, watched as the numbers dwindled on earth rather than growing and the moment his father found out his fascination, found his secret window hiding in the flower garden, he forbid Harry from ever allowing himself to become entrapped in his father’s projects again.    
  
A young angels promise that had been broken only a century later.    
  
He knew he could never keep it, as did his father -a secret the old man would never admit but would always hold close to his heart- but it was the fact of respect that he even made the promise and attempted to fulfill it for as long as he did.    
  
He had watched from afar for so long, that the feeling of being an outsider slowly melted away and he got the overwhelming feeling of belonging without ever truly entering. His presence has never graced earth. He’d never felt the rushing water falling in dangerous waves off of a high cliff edge. Never experienced love that was an actual feeling rather than just a simple statement said, meant to bound to souls into one in a way of laying claim, of stating a certain authority one had simply because they shared the same creator. But the unfiltered, raw version of love he’s watched humans kill each other over. So strong, so passionate. So alive.    
  
He’d never smelt the thick air trapped in a ball of gravity and despair, reeking of heartache and happiness and overall joy for being alive. He never experienced a humans life until he finally took that jump and left heaven.    
  
Hell a revolving door always beckoning him in with welcoming screams and echoless promises.    
  
But he instead chose earth. Where light and dark corresponded in a way even the most advanced creatures never could. They had what angels and demons lacked; the compassion to accept something that was different.    
  
And Harry was that very definition.    
  
He spent centuries just watching, never approaching or breaching that line of remaining anonymous and disconnected. They fascinated him in ways his own kind never could. Held his attention with the fragile bones that seemed to carry so much, but truthfully carried nothing more than their own destiny. They created problems that were never there, loved those who had burned them, and refused to grow until they were forced to. A task that always ended in heartache and he wondered why the humans allowed so much sorrow in their hearts. Filling the cracks with that thick, black sludge he’d too felt slithering in his own blood stream at all the disgusted glances from those meant to love and accept him.    
  
Was he not worthy of love? Or was his heart meant to drown in the darkest of pits, staining his twitching feathers with the darkness claiming him in ways no one ever has. In a way hell was disgusted by, and angels were terrified of.    
  
The first human he’d ever spoken to, showed him an entire world dancing along his fingertips that was only now within reach. A world thought to be unimaginable. Where wars weren’t so catastrophic, and idle emotions weren’t frowned upon. The simplest spark was bowed upon.    
  
In a world of failed creatures, Harry learned it was not them who had failed his father, but rather reversed. He left them in the brink of extinction, claiming they weren’t worthy of his time or effort, yet proved him wrong when they raised out of the ashes and created civilization.   
  
Yet, the silly things still worshipped him.    
  
Built monuments in his honor, dedicated days out of their week to worship him and they remained unaware that their father abandoned them.    
  
That he abandoned all who he didn’t deem worthy, and somewhere in that long list sat Harry. A lost angel only looking for a little guidance, not harsh hands shoving him towards the direction thought to be right.   
  
He still loved his father, though. It wasn’t as simple as a switch being flicked on or off, turning off such emotions even if his father was capable of doing so.    
  
He was loyal to him; even if he didn’t agree with his ways.    
  
And he never understood why, until he stumbled down that dirt path, a cloud of dust trailing behind the horses departing from the saloon, and seen that one frustrating human.   
  
The human who taught him everything there was to learn. 

  
—-   
  
But life was never that simple, was it?    
  
—-   
  
Harry sees a human, and he swears he’s an angel. Or a form of an angel. Cast from heaven, stripped of his wings but not his beauty. Not his light. His smile is wide and genuine, full of love and life and the blue eyes remind him of the oceans waves. Crashing. Pulling him in. Drowning him in the current while also keeping him float, in some odd way. But he couldn’t be; that shouldn’t be possible.    
  
His aura is gold, screaming innocence, pureness. And Harry knew all the angels. Had sought refuge in all their arms at one time or another and found nothing but stone walls and generic words of wisdom telling him to accept his power and his role. None of them were filled to the brim with joy like this boy, soft chestnut hair sat in wavy tufts on his head, curls not formed but forced from the dust and bouncing into half formed heaps of sand. Decaying from the water, there, but not.    
  
He’s watched humans for centuries, admitted his fascination with them, but he’d never felt as compelled to finally speak with one until that day. To pass from that comfort of invisibility and breach the actual world that breathed with the living. Thrived with all their excitement and life.    
  
His unset job was to be an unseen protector, remain anonymous and unattached, hidden yet felt. Offering comfort without the fear.    
  
But those eyes drew him in and before he realized the slight crawl across his skin was from more than just the chill of the air, he was spotted. Or rather, he was picked out for being a creeper and seen before having a chance to hide once more. The sun was warm on his skin, chasing away that breeze that brushed over his body and pulled at his chiton, white as the winters snow, and his sandal claud feet, crossed delicately at the ankle from his spot leant against the stone wall, wasn’t enough to pull him back and away from that edge.    
  
A small look was a rope around his body and he stood without meaning, reason, and admired from afar with the alluring call dragging him in.    
  
He had seconds to decide, to finally leave his comfort zone and talk to the humans when he’s spent his entire life shying away from any and all contact to... pretty much anyone. He accepted his fate, accepted he would forever wander the galaxy alone but now, with those blue eyes boring into his mossy green ones, hopeless yet wanting to fly, all didn’t seem lost. Nothing seemed impossible.    
  
His decision was made for him even before he came to one, because the small creature was standing in front of his with a brilliant smile. “You were staring,” he stated, no judgement evident in his soft voice, just curiousness detected in the depths. “So I thought I would come and say hi.” No call for hesitation, just straight forward as he thrust a hand outwards. “My name is Louis, son of William the third and heir to his kingdom.”    
  
And despite the sudden flapping of his heart, the rapid thudding that definitely called for panic because before, he’d never even been aware he had a heart. Or lungs, but suddenly, he felt as if he couldn’t breath. “You’re beautiful,” Harry says honestly.    
  
“Oh,” he pauses in his efforts to remain calm, blushes, then smiles and for a moment, Harry is taken back to a time when he was younger and the world was a beautifully magnificent place. Simple. His breath, the one he didn’t need before but now craved, scratched up his throat. “I guess that’s alright, then.”    
  
Harry finds out the boy lives in the kingdom just south of the river, where the land is reigned by his mad father king William who is more set on breeding with whores then saving his quickly crumbling kingdom, or so Louis tells him. He holds a level of resentment for his father that Harry understands and can relate to, something he’s never been allowed to experience in his life before. He’s as misunderstood as him, as misguided, seeking comfort in all the mundane things while trying to maintain a level of respect and socialism.    
  
He’s afraid of being alone but craved the solitude.    
  
Louis, in the weeks following their initial meeting, shows all he can to the strange boy he knew not to be an angel. He showed him the temple of where they worshipped Harry’s father, offering him all that he can if only to appease his father’s wishes. Maybe the golden coin will bring comfort to his depressed mother, give her courage to finally leave the mad king and find her place amongst the peasants she once claimed to love. Or maybe the lump of sugary candy hidden inside his pocket will keep his father from straying, making him faithful, erasing all his illegitimate children and leaving only enough room for Louis.   
  
One thing Harry noticed as the pile of offerings grew, was not once did the selfless boy ask for anything to fill his own life. Just those he loved. And it was that awe that pushed Harry to question his actions.    
  
“I have all I could ever need,” Louis whispered in admittance as they casually strolled down the road lined with dirt and closed shops, the light from the bakery a warm, welcoming yellow glow inviting them in to crack open that freshly baked bread. “He has given me a mother, and a father, and a kingdom I am meant to rule one day. I have riches beyond belief, and have a life filled with more than all these people could ever dream of. What else could I possibly need?”    
  
“Something for yourself,” Harry said,” not something given to you or expected of you. But something you want.” And the confused glance he got in answer was enough to curl the side of his lip in amusement. “What is it you want, Louis? Have to ever thought about just yourself? Or is every thought of yours stained with all these peoples happiness?”   
  
Harry gestured at the few souls still wandering the street, and grinned at the few who waved at him in greeting.    
  
Louis’ eyebrows furrowed as he thought over his answer, acting as if it was such a complex, loaded question when it was really just a question about being selfish. Could he steal away moments of his mind to care for himself? Think for himself? Or was he too giving, too loving, to think of everyone else but himself?    
  
Harry never got the answer to that question, though he was sure he already knew it.   
  
Louis loved himself. He did. But he loved the people of his kingdom more.    
  
And maybe, he told Harry, the green eyed lad could be part of said kingdom one day.    
  
—-   
  


The first time Harry is invited into the palace harboring his young human, he immediately panics at the thought of being surrounded by so many humans without a quick escape route. He could escape if needed, but not if he didn’t want his identity to remain hidden. His book a story with scarce pages about an orphaned peasant who did odd jobs just to get by. Yet Louis never looked down at him, never treated him differently, and for that Harry was grateful. 

He wondered what his dear old dad would say if he could see him, sitting at the table with a king ruling over part of his failed world, talking to his son as if he was too a human who belonged amongst them just as much as Louis did himself.    
His father -Harry’s- was, while kind and generous in certain aspects of his life, a jealous man who would cause wars at just the thought of his rogue, escapy son living with the very things he despised. 

He would roll off his throne if he knew one of his worshippers dragged his fallen angel into his home and accepted him into his heart just as quickly as he’d discarded them all from his own. If he was in a particularly bad mood, usually on those days when his boys in white failed one of his newest missions, he would, to the best of his ability, destroy earth yet again. This time, however, Harry was sure he wouldn’t leave enough ashes for anything to rise from. He’d failed once. 

And that once was a mistake. A rare occurrence. 

He wouldn’t fail again. 

But then, in the midst of his adopted panic attack, Louis asks, “Please?” And something in that plea works. Harry inclines his head in a nodded acceptance, reluctant to be agreeing to something so trapping, and Louis grins once more. Wide eyed and all teeth, showing off the smile Harry has found himself entrapped in one too many times. 

  
Which is where they stood, outside a gate sky high with men stationed outside at their posts, long swords sheathed at their sides with metal armor heavy weight on their shoulders. The chain linked under armor wrapping around their skull where it was then tucked beneath their helmet with blue feathers sticking up, fanned out in rays of a darkened sky. The gate, made of stone with the drawbridge sat right in the middle, was intimidating before him and he wondered why he never got the same feeling standing outside the gates of Heaven. 

He remembers the judging angels who were responsible for accepting incoming souls, and how cruel they would be to the ones denied. They would laugh with their legs kicked up on a table behind the golden gate, acting holier than the crying souls being rejected and he ached for them. 

For those unwanted; unwelcomed. 

Even here, before this gate, knowing who hid behind it, he wasn’t intimidated nor aching for the other people titled as peasants. They knew their place, were always welcomed within the walls of their kings palace and Harry decided then that’s why he will forever respect king William far more than he ever will his own father. Because, despite his authority and how much land he truly reigns over, he never acts better than them nor treats them as any less than him.

He hosts annual balls, welcoming all to come, with feasts beyond imaginable and entertainment for all to enjoy. He was admirable.    


If one looked past his cruel and inhuman torturous ways. He enjoyed killing humans, wrong or not, and he did it in ways that would make even a demon blush. 

Harry hated him for that, but refused to hold that kind of feeling for a man who had done so much good; besides, he held no right to judge anyone. 

Children were chasing each other outside the stone walls, playing tag as their mothers hung out the laundry and their fathers either marched in the kings army, completely absent from their life, or worked mundane jobs to provide for their families. The castle sat high on a hill, monuments for Harry’s father and siblings scattered around like hills of protection; seeming so small in comparison but actually acting as a much larger foundation than even the king himself was. They were no less powerful in his eyes, size or not.

Without their religion, their beliefs, what did they have? 

An end with no light? A switch that just turned everything off? 

Harry allows himself to fall a step behind Louis as he’s lead through the gates and up the stairs Louis has admitted he’d spent most of his free time sitting on, through the foyer and down the corridor to a large dining room, with a table large enough to sit half the kingdom. He’s unsure of how to act when he first sees the king, sat at the head of the table with the entire kingdom on display behind him through the open walled wall, leading to a drop off of over two hundred feet with sharp, jagged rocks and heavy currents greeting you at the bottom. 

He shifts from foot to foot, offers a dimpled smile, and musters up enough courage to not dunk this social interaction in the toilet. He may lack in all departments, most to be blamed for his lack of friends, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t make the effort. “Hello, sire,” he said, confidence a poorly masked shield he wore that hid the quiver in his voice quite well. He responded well to authority, always has, but a human who thought he held more power over Harry than he truly did was what had the angel choking up. 

Because, in the truth of the very statement, the king held a lot of power of him. And it was all wrapped up in a neat bundle that was a strange kid who went by the name of Louis. 

He held the key to his happiness. 

“Please, call me William.” The man spoke with a wisdom Harry had never recalled ever hearing, brimming with respect even if he knew nothing of the -peasant- his son had become infatuated by. “You are Harry, I presume. Louis thinks very highly of you, and I’ve yet to determine if that is to call for my worth or not,” 

He was a short man, with a nicely trimmed beard and hard blue eyes that somehow remained soft when he maintained eye contact with Louis. “Yes, sire- er, master William,” Harry bowed, fully aware his hidden wings curled around around his body in a protective gesture to hide how absolutely foolish he was. 

Whether or not Louis’ fatuation was call for worry was never answered. 

Yet;

To say the king was smitten after that, would truly be the biggest understatement Harry has ever made, or so Louis claims. His father took him beneath his wing, showed him the ropes and how to be a proper man despite the fact that Harry was, in his own terms, eons older than the man claiming he knew the world better because he was older and wiser. 

Wiser, perhaps. But Harry proudly outshined him in age, even if his twenty year old body lied and said otherwise. 

Harry wondered if Louis knew he was older than he claimed? He often said Harry was an old soul, but did he know the truth in that statement? 

Would he run if he did? 

Harry couldn’t run. He had nowhere to run to. Heaven wasn’t his home no more. It was a closed off area once the safe haven he stored his dreams. 

—

Harry was sitting at the pond Louis showed him, claiming it was a secret, that no other human had ever stepped foot on the tan sand and had the privilege to watch as the tiny fish twisted and twirled beneath the mirrored water, hiding in the algae for protection from the predators that constantly lurked about- Louis perched on a rock with his tiny feet kicking back and forth in the water, not scaring the fish like it should have even with water ripples gliding across the top of the water, when he heard it. The call from his sister, Gemma, a tugging in his bones that he  _ shouldn’t  _ have been able to ignore so easily. 

She wasn’t asking for his presence. She was  _ demanding _ it. And as his elder, as his father's right hand angel, Harry was obligated to listen. 

And that should have been the end to their story. Where everything closed into a void of memories and cherished places Harry vowed to always visit even centuries later, where the meaning would stay between the two of them. He should have listened to her call. 

But he wasn’t in step with his siblings any longer, was he? Their calls no longer as urgent as they once were. 

He now answered to someone lower than them, but no less powerful. Someone who just smiled shyly over his shoulder at the angel with a quirked brow, almost daring him to advance on him, to take that step forward and stop hiding so much of himself. But, his voice said otherwise; told a story his eyes refused to keep quiet of. 

“How long do you plan on staying here?” He asked. “In my kingdom?” His foot swirled in the water, movement developing a note that Harry immediately registered as sadness, which he wasn’t sure how a movement could project such an emotion. 

“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” Harry admitted with a lift of his shoulder, the slight shrug dismissing any questions, acting as a cloth that wiped any and all questions away. “Why, Louis? Have I overstayed my welcome? Have you tired of my presence already?” 

It was said in a teasing manner, but held more truth than Harry cared to admit himself. People always grew bored of him. He overstayed his welcome more often than not, and has never had a place to truly settle down and take a moment to breath without being reminded he wasn’t welcome. 

And, damn it, he  _ wanted _ to be wanted. 

He wanted Louis to  _ want _ him. 

In what way, was still uncertain. 

“No,” the boy was quick to say, rushed word a surprise gasp as he jerked forward, Harry’s fast reflexes the only thing keeping Louis from toppling head first into the water as the angel curled his fingers around the slim wrist with a tilted smirk. “Sor-Sorry. For both. I didn’t mean to imply that. I was asking because—“ and he hesitated. Why? Did he care enough he didn’t want to hurt Harry’s feelings, or care too little and was upset because he  _ wanted _ to feel something for the angel? “Because I’m afraid you’ll leave without saying goodbye. I realize you have a family you need to return to, and that I can not continue being selfish and keeping you all to myself, but I enjoy your presence. I enjoy you, Haz.” 

The nickname came so easily, sounded so natural, and the boyish grin that stretched Harry’s lips was an automatic reaction he couldn’t fight off— even if he wanted to. 

“Haz?” He repeated in a testing manner, loving the way his tongue curled around the foreign word. Nobody had cared enough to give him a nickname. Ever. “I’ll take it.” 

“I didn’t give you a choice.” Louis quipped, winking.

Harry sighed before replying, realizing delaying this was only going to hurt them both in the long run. “I can’t stay forever,” Harry said, voice low; soft. “My family isn’t the reason, but I do have responsibilities. People I need to take care of, and you have a life you need to return to, yeah? Future king of Khomore.”

Louis frowned at the last sentence, appearing almost unhappy with the title before he shook it off and hid once more behind the facade Harry still manages to see behind. Eyes of an angel and heart of a… 

Well, human?

“Will you stay for awhile longer?” He asked, doing poorly at masking the hopefulness that seeped into his very being and made blue sizzle through his golden aura like blazing bolts of lightning. “At least until the end of summer? I have so much to show you.” 

He should say no. He realizes that. He should leave from his place leant against the white pillar, his permanent place of residence where he greets Louis every morning, assuring nobody else will take his place by staying in the same position all night; hiding from all eyes but watching. He should remove the baggage the boy has delivered to him, clean his hands of the humans, and return home. But something in Louis’ eyes compels him to say yes. To squish that look of resignation, like he’s resigned to the answer of no, but the hazy edge of hope was still bleeding at the edges. And Harry wants that too, to stay here in the bliss of humans and simple life filled with meaningless conversations, but no.

He’s played house long enough. He has duties to his father, must return home and fill them despite knowing he wasn’t wanted nor welcomed. He’s needed to help create places like earth, altered if only by a little, to play the game and see  _ who _ would kill their planet fastest. He needs to accept a role, too. Either as an angel of death, so mistakenly misunderstood, or another role in heaven. 

The souls needed guidance, and who better to guide them than the very angel who has tried for years to understand them? 

He can hear the crying of dying souls, of people withering away into nothing and leaving behind their dynasty, their life’s story. A man in what has yet to be marked and claimed as New York City, was dying from an illness he attracted after spending so many nights sleeping in the rain, the chill enough to damage his organs and cause them to shut down. 

In this very village, there is a woman bleeding to death with her newborn baby placed so carefully on her chest, the medical procedures imperfect and not quite as mastered as they will be in a few hundred years, a simple hemorrhage that could be fixed so easily. Harry aches to help them, but with his title as a forbidden angel; fallen with no destination, he had no right to claim and guide the souls so lost. 

Yet, despite knowing his duties, he still found himself listening to the compelling thump of his heart. 

“Yes,” Harry says, smiling as his cloudy orbs cleared. “I’ll stay. Only until the end of summer,” 

And possibly after that. Who knows what powers his human holds over him? How long can he make this angel stay, knowing he has other places to be?

Silence followed, the smile on Louis’ face, the one that spoke more volume than any words ever could, was worth any and all repercussions Harry may receive from his father. 

Minutes must have passed before Louis spoke again, and Harry wasn’t expecting anything else to be said until; 

“You asked me one day what I asked for from god,” Louis said, soft, voice cautious. “For myself.”

It wasn’t a question, more as a statement, but Harry still said, “Yes,” in agreement, nodding. 

“Do you want to know what I asked for?” He paused and Looked at Harry, face guarded, calculating as he looked over the Angels features. 

A simple nod. 

“I asked for you, Harry.” 

 

—-

  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. The kingdom was in love with the young prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All credit goes to my lovely beta for taking the time to read through and edit this. So, thank you, Carly. I appreciate you and your incredible gift!! :)
> 
> Here's the next chapter!!
> 
> She can be found on Archive @RoseDaggerLouisHarryLS_28

It should end there. It had to end there, with fiable memories capable of forgetting things told, things seen, emotions felt and secrets whispered. He should head on his way, return home and remember who he was, not who this human made him be. Louis, in time, would forget Harry. The sound of his voice, the color of his eyes, the soft lull a constant humming between their two bodies drawing them closer together until they were touching in some way. A harmless brush of a hand through hair, fixing the tight curls. A nudge of a shoulder, a fleeting hug. 

He wouldn’t remember Harry by the years end if the angel left now. The meaningless conversations that has passed between the two, centered around god and the hilarious fact that Harry claims to know such a man, would be nothing more than a faint whisper barely recognizable as reality. Their entire tale drawn out to only weeks rather than months. An Immortal chasing a human wasn’t feasible, wasn’t heard of. 

The impression would be there, a footprint in the tan sand, enough to leave them both grasping for more without really knowing exactly what that more was. 

Only, Harry would always know. 

His mind held onto everything, nothing leaving the confines a constant stream of chatter and hurt. Wars were a conflicting scene battling with images of Louis, the good trying to outweigh the bad, twining together in a haunting tale he couldn’t let go of just yet. In account, it wasn’t just a harmless conversation. It was an eternity trapped in words. 

A lifetime held together with sewn promises. 

And Harry knew, with his eyes pinned on the boy spread out on the scratchy, thin blanket laid out on the high, prickly grass, that he wasn’t  _ normal _ . Would never be easily forgotten. 

Passed off.

And so, he stayed.

With the knowledge that to Louis, he was his gift. 

Not a curse.

——

The perks of being an immortal begins and ends with the passing days blending into each other, one day disappearing in a blink of an eye, a decade racing to you before you could truly grasp or affect the world enough to leave more than tiptoed steps a thin trail through the ten years.

Or, so it was before Khomore, before Louis. 

Harry had allowed him to get lost to the chatter of time, constantly streaming on in a dull mantra that carried him through life enough to keep him present but not. He seen flickering images, just never grasped them. Never truly realized the meaning and potential a simple rose held until it became so much more than just a flower. 

It was a flower curled in soft, chestnut hair. Mirroring the crown entangled in Harry’s own darkened curls, smaller in comparison but making no less of a statement with the red petals curled down and around his ears. It seemed as if the human was adapting to Harry’s ways, mirroring him without doing so intentionally and soon, the flowers grew into crowns and the once short hair was now longer in length, overlapping the ears just enough to protect them from Harry’s tempting words and promises he really shouldn’t make.

It didn’t take long for the two to become known around the kingdom. Greeted as a pair, fed as a pair, always glued to the others hips and people noticed as much. Harry wasn’t without Louis, and Louis was never without Harry. It was a given. Something Harry finally took from the universe, and Martha at the apple cart always knew to keep two of her largest red apples hidden beneath the basket for safekeeping to sell to the two boys on their walk through town every morning. 

Chalice, the guard meant to follow and protect Louis when leaving the kingdom grounds, passed that flaming torch onto Harry and stayed hovering at the entrance gate, watching from afar but doing nothing to breach their bubble of fantasy; like he did every morning. Mr. Kay, down in the bakery, always met with the butcher, Edward, every afternoon to prepare the two boys a simple meal of salted meat, hung and dried, bread and cubed cheese. Their daily lives became predictable, but no less exciting. No less meaningful to Harry. 

He knew his father would throw a tantrum at the sight of his son living an almost domestic life, with made up dances pittering across Louis’ bed chambers floor, leaving ghost of footprints as childish, glee filled laughter echoed off the walls— encouraged them both to pick up speed, to avoid the other at all costs as the contest drew on until they both collapsed on Louie’ ridiculously large, and incredibly soft, bed. Breathless. Spent.  _ Happy. _

Harry’s decided he no longer has to feel guilty for stealing time from this precious human, for ignoring his duties, because although he is doing both, there is meaning behind what appears to be his selfishness. He’s a collector, discovering all there is to hold and cherish and deem valuable enough to collect; and time with this human, this specific human, is him doing just that. He’s figuring out the flaws in the creations, how they tick, what makes them lose control and he’s lucky enough to have someone so experienced, a world class human, here to teach him. To show him all he needs to learn to truly grasp the real meaning of humanity.

Of caring. 

And if sitting by a little lake, with a little human, on the tenth day on the fifth month with the same meal sat laid out before them on a scratchy blanket, is research, then he will dive into every small thread just to steal mere seconds with this boy. 

Selfish or not, forever would be too short. 

“I’m leaving with father by the ends week,” Louis says as he sips his smuggled wine out of the canteen, crumbs of bread littering his trousers where his legs sat crossed. “The North is proposing an attack on the East, and father only sees fit that we become allies with both the North and West to assure our survival chances. He thinks it best I attend both meetings, to show the future king is truly involved and interested enough in his kingdom to put forth the effort and time to consider possible solutions for all outcomes.” 

Harry wishes he wasn’t so self involved with Louis, the war sparking memories of what was yet to come but now, with his heart clouding his thoughts, he could no longer see anything Louis that extended past the present; the past. The future was an unknown, uncharted territory he couldn’t see if any of it involved Louis.

And that terrified him. He was usually so confident, so self assured, but now. Now nothing made more sense than the feet resting in his lap. His twitching wings would agree to that very statement. 

But why did he suddenly wish for Louis not to leave? The thought of them being separated for longer than a night near suffocating but to hide his reaction, Harry forged a grin out of tiny memories of Louis and looked at the boy. 

“All should pray for a better leader,” Harry joked, flicking Louis’ heel as he gazed out at the twinkling water, wondering not for the first time what it would feel like to be completely enclosed in the icy waves. “Teasing. You will be a fine ruler one day, Lou. I promise, just you wait and see.” 

“Will you be here to see it?” Louis asked, innocently enough as he pulled at a loose string on his blanket, feigning neutralness when Harry could literally feel the weight the simple question held. 

His heart ached. 

“I suppose returning for the celebration wouldn’t be too far fetched,” Harry agreed, keeping the hope to a minimal, and manageable, level. Promising nothing more than he could stay true to. Returning wasn’t the problem. Leaving was. 

Satisfied enough with his agreement, though the sadness was a beautifully chaotic web masking the boy’s eyes as he pointed across the lake, towards the barely visible other side at a man bent over what appeared to be a net, weaved together out of rope. “That is where Edward gets most of his product,” Louis commented, starting a different conversation for the sake of keeping them both here for a little bit longer, with the setting sun a reminder of their impending goodbye.

“But he doesn’t breed the fish,” Harry said, “why should he make a profit off of what is, naturally, the entire villages right?” 

Eyes clouding for what one would only conclude as love, Louis’ lips tilted into a fond smile. “They keep each other alive,” he said, “They know where to get their food if they wanted to save money, but they support one another. They give and take. A truly intricate, yet beautiful, system.” 

Louis was in love with the people of his kingdom. 

And the kingdom was in love with the young prince. 

Harry recognized that not even his second day here. The faces that grew familiar, that became more than just forgetful names, were the same people who raised Louis in ways the king never could. 

Beyond Edward and Kay, beyond the guards and the king, sat an entire village of people often overlooked and forgotten and Louis paid attention to every single one of them. He wasn’t royalty when they roamed the streets. He was the dirty little boy each and every single one has taken turns cleaning and feeding. 

With their quiet conversation gliding across the water, both boys stood after a few minutes longer and gathered their things. The walk back to the kingdom was shorter than both wanted, than both anticipated though Harry knew he wasn’t the only one tracking his steps and making them shorter and shorter with every movement forward. 

The lanterns lining the path to the gate glowed bright and powerful in the dark, beckons sparking the sense of belonging and it was there, with the yellow glow with red hues slashing across their skin, that Harry wished Louis a goodnight and left.

Not chancing a glance backwards for the fear he would never truly leave, which has happened many nights before. 

He was stopped by Pam on his tired retreat, the Goldsmith of Khomore, with his daughter hanging precariously off his counter with her chubby legs dangling inches off the ground, “Harry, lad, take a look at this,” he urged in a tempting tone as he held a cupped hand out, guarding a necklace enclosed in fleshy fingers darkened and discolored from years of work. “Marie inspired this,”

And when he opened his fingers, there, with a silver chain sprinkled with sparkling diamonds wrapped around his fingers, sat a small rose, with a silver stem that had sharp leaves standing up and out, proudly offering a perfect display of a red rose, crinkled petals caught in the bent and contorted metal. 

Harry doesn’t know why, but a certain face immediately popped into his head at the exact moment he seen it. 

Which led him to purchasing the necklace, and keeping it hidden in his pocket until he finally gave it to the boy the day he left with his father, showing along the stem set the personalized name inscribed out to Louis. 

He made him promise there, as they stood outside the chariot with the king yelling at them from his seat, demanding them to hurry, that Louis would return. 

And it was with a giggled, tear filled promise that he would, that the chariot disappeared down the road.

—

The time between Louis’ departure and Louis’ arrival seems like it drags on far longer than even Harry’s entire existence has. He filled the boring days with all the scandals from the humans life’s, learned Martha was actually saving money to send home to her son and his family, claiming despite his job a grandmother still had a right to worry about her grandkids. 

The money gets returned every month. 

Each and every attempt she makes to reach out, rejected. Her son married a woman from wealth, and Martha was a common woman. A peasant. There was no room in her life for them. 

Yet, she never gave up hope.

And Shaun, one of the workers in Louis’ castle that claims he is a slave but Louis rejects such titles, is actually in love with the certain knight from the kings vast collection, and hopes one day to be noticed and not hanged. Because, certainly his love deserves a chance too.

Harry didn’t understand what he meant by that until he was given the cruel history gay males, and women, has suffered at the expense and hands of his father. Humankind led to believe they were unnatural, unloved, because a book said so? A book god wouldn’t have taken his time to read, let alone write? When Harry asked to read the book, he was laughed at.

When they realized he really was as naive and clueless as he was acting, they led him to Herms library, where the original copy was set chained to the table, denying anybody a chance to steal it. 

The words wrote made Harry laugh -his father could be cruel man, but even he wouldn’t justify half the things written in this book-, and had filled the void Louis left for a day. 

Then, he was back at Martha’s door. 

—-

It wasn’t until day three that he met Jai Tomlinson, Louis’ mother and the depressed queen who remained hidden every passing moment of the day. She was wandering the hallways, later claiming she did so when her husband was away because she felt safe and at peace, when Harry stumbled upon her. On pure accident, really. 

She was on her way to the kitchen, she’d said, not asking who the young man was but rather smiling with warm brown eyes void of anything but pain; the very feeling running ragged on her face, her body. She invited him along, voice soft and sweet, carrying a motherly note that Harry filed away as a comfort as it washed over his shoulders in lapping breaths that eased the ball of loneliness that has taken up residency in his stomach. 

It wasn’t until the cloak was removed that he seen the round swell of her stomach. “You’re pregnant?” He asked in a gushed, awe filled question that was immediately followed with disgust and so many questions. 

He’d heard about human pregnancies, had even caught glimpses of a few pregnant women from afar, but he’s never seen one so big, or so close. It was fascinating, terrifying, and incredibly disgusting all in the same breath. Human babies were ugly, wrinkly little things too. 

Angel babies were born in pods, created rather than birthed, and were given a role as soon as their feathered wings expanded with their first breath. Harry didn’t have a title, though. He was told he was too special. 

A lie only one stupid human believes. 

She was pregnant with twins, and it was when Harry felt her stomach that he knew;  _ seen _ . 

The Queen’s clock was ticking down.

Louis’ mother was dying. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Louis wasn’t his

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So, it’s been a while. I realize I SUCK at staying consistent with my stories but after taking a much needed break, i am back and better than ever!! I hope y’all enjoy this update. 
> 
> Xx

It was hard for Harry to accept that humans were a mistake. That Louis’ skin that felt just like the very clouds Harry had been born from, was nothing more than a branded imprint in a wasteland to his fathers eyes. The boy and his voice was heaven and hell, sin and forgiveness, the very sight of him causing storms of archangels, putting to shame the idea that anything else in this universe was even remotely as powerful as them blue eyes. 

Still, the idea that this was wrong wouldn’t go away.

Even with the excitement of a rekindled friendship still buzzing along their skin like ants, a thin armor with their tiny feet creating millions of tiny vibrating footsteps that reached the very core of who they were. Apparently an absence of any length was unacceptable, but one extending beyond their ritual nightly goodbye and set their routine off course just wouldn’t do. Set the both on edge, made them antsy and when they finally came together once more it was as if fire and ice were clashing for the first time.

Ice taming the hot flames of the flickering fire as the fire warmed the core of the ice. Destroying each other in the process but ultimately helping build the other up to achieve all they’ve ever hoped for. Louis didn’t know this, would never have the knowledge of the real world like Harry did, of the future and all the generations of his family that lived through the line he created one drunken night in a bar with one lonely widowed woman in search of a companion for a night. And through their shared heartache, an understanding for the others pain, they eased the ripples of pain for the night with the promise of being gone by the next morning and leaving no imprint.

Her late husband who never returned from the war was still fresh to her despite years having passed, and Louis... Louis remembered a green eyed male a little too well, but he would forever be disconnected from the emotions: the memories. Not allowing him to forget them and the pain but to view it as an outsider, almost as if he couldn’t shake the affect from a book he’d read. The pages still imprinting the back of his eyelids with memories not his own.

It would be a pain not his own, but his body would be convinced otherwise.

And Harry hated himself for being the very reason of causing that pain. 

But with flickering images of a small little boy chasing a flock of chickens through the waist high corn fields with a beautiful woman trailing right behind him, dirt smeared across her upper brow with dust sticking to her skin and dipping into her wrinkles that heightened the effects aging had on her; proved her years of hard work— was something he would never forget. That little boy was his Louis, born into another body,  a piece of the soul he once knew carried in that little boys heart and passed down from child to child. 

Creating an endless version of Ludovico Tomlinson, past known by that name, currently known by Louis and in the future by many, many more names. But the heart was the same.

Forever would be. 

And it was through that pain that Harry caused, that set Louis’ future on course.

—-

Unaware how to breach the subject of Louis’ dying mother, Harry remains silent. Not that he felt silence was more welcoming than the truth, but in this case, he felt only right keeping certain things to himself. What has yet to be defined as cancer, just a disease that approached you silently and killed you before you really had a chance to grasp life, was thick swirls of branch’s twirling around her bones, striking through her stomach in spotted patterns and he could smell it now that he acknowledged it existed. 

Humans and their fragility was something Harry would never understand. Sickness was a foreign word amongst the angels, only ever used to describe a soul long beyond the realms of being salvageable or deemed not worthy enough to live in Heaven. Lucifer had been sick. The sickest of the sick.

But now, the word carried a new meaning. One Harry wasn’t sure what to do with the weight that came with it. Did he carry it alone? Or confide in the human he’d grown… close to. Or rather dependent on. He needed to learn the ways of Louis’ kind and the sweet human helped him without even realizing so. 

Harry could spend centuries parsing through Louis’ mind like a minor chiseling away precious chunks of diamonds: priceless yet invaluable to anyone who dared tried to steal them. 

He’d figured the longer he stayed the less his infatuation would grow but that had been his first mistake. To ever think the bags of flesh and bones would grow boring to him when, in his centuries long life, they were the most intriguing things he’d ever had the privilege of laying his eyes on.

And Louis was at the top of that chain.

He sends a harmlessly crooked smile over his shoulder and Harry’s heart hammers in his chest, a foreign feeling that had thoroughly terrified him the first time it happened and he’d been convinced his father's summoning was so powerful it was going to turn him in side out. But the second time it happened, he figured it was Louis who had caused it. Who had summoned such a reaction by brushing Harry’s hair out of his face, tracing along the bones and curves of his fingers or doing something as simple as looking at him. It goes wild then.

He’s come to the conclusion he knows everything about the humans, but nothing about Louis. Nothing the boy doesn’t want him to know and Harry takes its because he’s convinced he will never have the chance to know someone as intimately as he thinks he knows this human.

And he doesn’t want to. 

~~

Some days, they never leave the castle. They hide in the lengthy corridors, voices carrying to sound like whispered threats bouncing off the clay statues that reside in every corner. Wooden brooms turn into dangerous swords, towels rolled into balls acting like grenades on the verge of detonating the second a twitching finger moved from the perfect fold of fabric. Sandals stuffed full of clothing to appear like legs are left lying around the castle, severed limbs being tripped over by the staff who just shake their head at the two boys wreckless fun and move on.

On sunny days, they sneak to the highest watchtower in the castle and sun bath, Louis hiding giggles in cupped hands as he watches the knight combat below them, training to move to the first line of defense even if most won’t survive to hit their mid twenties. On those days, he appears to be the happiest. Most carefree. Throwing light jabs at Harry due to him never showing Louis his place of occupancy, or never removing his clothes while in the presence of someone and, “Do you even have a body? Or are you really just sacks of flour posing as a god?”

If only he knew Harry wasn’t a god, and at this point, he really wasn’t even an angel.

The first day he ever does remove his chiton was the day they snuck down to the pond to help Edward with this latest catch of the day. Harry wasn’t aware of the word, “shy or self conscious,” or rather he’d never truly known the feeling associated with those words until he stood bared before Louis, his trousers hanging dangerously low on his bony hips that jutted out and pulled his tanned skin taut. 

Immediately, he wanted to cover his body. Louis’ eyes scanned over his skin so intently, watching him like he was the next course to be laid out on their ridiculously large table and he couldn’t wait for the second he was given permission to bite into the forbidden fruit. 

“You’re Gorgeous,” the boy breathed out, hand tentatively tracing the curve of Harry’s waist without even realizing he was moving his hand and Harry shivered: a deliciously glorious feeling that stained his unblemished skin with goosebumps. 

They’d both admired each other before, but never has Harry seen someone gaze at his body with such unfiltered hunger. “As are you,” he replied smoothly, taking in the tan male standing before him, biceps muscled and thick with a flat stomach that clenched under the rays of the sun. Harry, in comparison, was more noodly. Lanky limbs making him more coltish in his movements, and despite years of practice he could never grown into the long limbs. He had a broad chest and the forming of what humans called a six pack, but he was mildly attractive when standing next to someone so breathtaking. 

Louis flickered his eyes up to meet Harry’s, the blues gone and in their place was the heart of a ocean amidst a storm; swirling and dark and oh so alluring to even the scardest sailors. “You are incomparable, Harry. Even the most beautiful knights haven’t the slightest clue what you could do to them with a simple flick of your finger,” Louis breathed, and Harry wasn’t entirely sure he was talking in sentences that made sense or if his ears were just ringing so loudly he couldn’t catch the entirety of the sentence. 

And Harry realized he was too far gone to simply leave. 

It was that day he understood; his feelings were no longer innocent. 

On pleasant days, Louis convinces his heavily pregnant mother to join them down in the garden where they mindlessly tend to the knee high flowers sparking the very life into Harry’s beating heart. Jealousy was a flaring torch that ignited the second he took a step back to admire the scene laid out before him, Louis in the middle of a patch of flowers telling his ridiculously long story of his experience during their trip to the other kingdoms and Jay is listening with such intent and fondness in her eyes that Harry’s heart aches. In months time, she would be gone. In months time, he would be gone. And with no time in that span could he ever look at Louis so openly the way she was.

Louis was a jewel he could admire in the shimmering sun, but in reality he wasn’t meant to keep it. Such beauty wasn’t meant to belong to a person who could never truly take care of it; give it the life it deserves. 

So Harry remains silent until it’s his turn to tell his own stories and myths; though slightly edited versions to keep his identity hidden for just a while longer. He tells of witnessing his youngest sibling leave home because he’d grown bored of the routine they’d all sank in to, and rebelled in a way that was not only frowned upon but extremely dangerous and in his quest to find who he was and his own personal freedom, he’d been disowned and sent to live on his own. Lucifer was doing fine now, and often tried getting Harry to succumb to the dark and join him in the pits of hell but Harry was holding out with the hope he too would find his place. 

He told of witnessing Zeus pluck his first lightning bolt out of the sky, and how immediately following was a shower storm that would’ve wiped out civilization if it hadn’t been anything more than dirt and empty craters at the time. It was taken in with giggles and under the pretense it was a myth, a story stretched so far and told so much Harry had actually accepted it into his own life as a true event and he didn’t bother correcting them. 

Jay’s stories are full of her own embellishments; inside jokes with Louis or Harry that set the two intrigued boys off in giggles, dirt smeared across their skin like markings from a tribe; branding them with a place to belong even if that place was their own little haven amongst flowers who couldn’t talk back but listened nonetheless. 

Jay told Harry of a young man she’d fallen in love with before she met the king, and with the story she kept throwing pointed glances at the two boys like she was speaking her truth to keep them from making her reality theirs. Protecting them from her own mistakes like she could read the words written between their laced fingers squished in the dirt, Harry’s longer fingers completely enclosing Louis’ in a woven barricade of flesh. 

She was speaking like her summer romance had somehow come to life before her very eyes. 

Her voice was by far the best, and her stories even more vivid and realistic than Harry’s even if hers were born from fantasy and strayed so far from the truth it had Harry giggling for other reasons than Louis could ever attempt to guess. Her voice was soothing and warm, wrapping around his mind like a hug that spoke words to him and planted the images in his mind. He seen the beautiful gods and goddesses she was describing, watched as they fought side by side in the battle of titans for control of the world. And somehow, her stories replaced his very own and he couldn’t decipher reality from fantasy. 

“Every night,” Jay confided in Harry while Louis busied himself with watering the flowers, “Louis would make me walk him to the pond so he could sit in the sand and speak to Poseidon. He said he spoke to him, too, and promised him one day to bring him a gift in green in exchange for his undying loyalty.” 

Louis looked up at that, shooting a grin at Harry as water fell in cascades from the tin; bouncing off the flowers in delicate droplets. “I suppose his gift to me was you, Harry.” 

And Harry shouldn’t have enjoyed that as much as he did. Shouldn’t have  _ to wanted _ to accept the idea that Poseidon had flung him from heaven for the intent of fulfilling his most loyal followers wishes. 

But, he did. And he was there wrapped in green.

And on the days Harry does leave, too guilt ridden to allow himself the luxury of lounging around in a castle all day, playing knights and dragons with Louis and the ridiculously squeaky five year olds who would insist he crawl on his hands and knees and roar every time he advanced on them to, “make it more real,” he finds himself wandering earth. Feet leaving a ghost of dusty trials in his wake as he moves from place to place, never being seen but felt. 

He provides safe passage for the souls who have recently perished, knowing full well he wasn’t permitted such a privilege because of his incompetence and reluctance to become the angel of death. 

He did it nonetheless. 

Guided the drunken man from the bar to the safety of a local inn that was really no more than three rooms the size of closets. He consoles the weeping woman who stands over her own body, dehydrated and malnourished and oh so abused as it lay to bake for hours longer in the sun. Her children are playing with the other kids, oblivious that their mother had been slipping her portions to them for months and that one last time had been a time too many. He promises her kids will be okay. 

Knowing he could never waver in his duty to watch over them. It was a lifelong task now. 

He quietly ushers the man murdered in an alley for his golden coins towards the hovering light breaching the temple of Hera, promising in a soft voice that his god would be there the moment he crossed over to welcome him. He always wondered what Hera would say when she learned Harry gave her believers a direct passage to her throne. He’d never asked her, and she’s never thrown a fuss while in his presence but she was a busy woman. Using her valuable time to lead the souls who dedicated their lives to her was possibly the least of her worries.

He stays hidden under the radar, ducking from his siblings prying scans when they catch a glimpse of the young angel, feel a ripple of his powers through the tethering line that connects them all in one way or another. He does his job silently, and without a fuss, the title still without a claim and him just as ditzy as ever. 

Being the angel of death was a task he should take pride in. Being trusted with the fresh souls Lucifer could easily snatch away at any given second, but he knew it was a last effort from his father at having some control over his flunked creation. 

One day specifically seems to drag on, leaving little to remember it by until he walks through the gates at the familiar kingdom and is immediately greeted by Arthur, an older knight who’d made it his duty to protect the lanky angel even if he’d never asked and Harry seen it more often than not, the looks he threw Louis when he wasn’t looking; like he was just now seeing the stars in the sky and appreciating the light they brought but somehow, in some way, Louis shines brighter than all of them combined. 

Arthur was kind, and dedicated, but he was often too clumsy in his ways and Harry found it hard not to like the man despite finding every attempt to. He knew he was a pawn, a way to get closer to the young prince and although jealousy was ever present in his wildly beating heart, he still couldn’t treat him with anything but kindness. Yet another flaw. 

And in their short walk through the lantern lit town, towards the castle, Harry pries. Digs into the humans life with questions thought it so carefully they seemed harmless. He found out he lived in the castle, in the middle level where all the other knights who moved far from home resided. He was from a noble family, Lord Zachariah and his wife living in a small village just outside of the North’s kingdom. He came from a large family, with three sisters (all who have already been married off and the youngest was thirteen, which made both men cringe and share a look of complete disgust but both knew better than to discuss such a topic in public) and seven brothers, most of whom were sent off to become knights. Most went to the West, but Arthur and his younger brother, Samuel, came here. 

Samuel died last year in a harmless patrol around the kingdom when a group of stragglers thought they needed his horse and belongings more than the boy did himself. 

And despite his title, his wealth, he was even more like the peasants Harry had grown to know and care for than any other person of rank was. He was kind and soft, masculine and hard while balancing everything else that came with being a knight on the basket of bread he carried around on the back of his horse daily to offer the people in the kingdom. 

“Most would go hungry,” he said, “it’s the very least I can do. They depend on things like this, the small things,” 

And somehow, with his heart full and the night luring out the side of him he’d always intended to keep quiet, Harry was pulled to the side of the stores and he found himself standing outside a low light tavern with Arthur digging into the pocket of his trousers, hidden beneath armor and pounds of metal.

He produced a small red bag, the inside a deep violet color that was velvety (Harry could tell without actually touching) and out slipped a golden bracelet, simple in its design with the linked hoops all linked together with three pearls trapped in the middle, daunting in its simplicity but beautiful in the light of the burning moon. 

“Do you think he’ll like it?” He asked, eyes wide and hopeful with a light pink dusting his cheeks that flared in the orange glow from the flickering flame. “I realize the king would go mad if he found out his son accumulated a gift from one of his knights, but you know as well as I do urge to please the young prince can’t be ignored.” He smiled soft, a knowing pat leaving Harry’s upper arm stinging with an unsuppressed bought of anger. And rather than waiting for a response, he continued. “I spent months torturing myself while considering what would be best to get him. I’m hoping of doing it soon, tonight perhaps. After you two have had your dinner, of course.” 

“Doing what?” Harry presses despite knowing, stomach in knots that his hands tried to desperately work out with his knuckles subtly pressing into the smooth flesh. 

_ Louis wasn’t his.  _

_ Louis wasn’t his.  _

_ Louis wasn’t his.  _

Something that, no matter how many times he repeated it, he couldn’t make himself believe. He knew Louis wasn’t his, in his heart. Knew he never could be and offering Arthur a chance at the prince was the least he could do. He needed to step back and breath, allow him room to advance and if Harry ripped himself apart in the process, at least he could say he did it to make Louis happy. Because, as the knight said, pleasing the prince was an urge one simply couldn’t ignore.

He gave Harry an incredulous look, like the answer had been there the entire time and the curly haired man surely wasn’t stupid enough to not have caught it. “Tell him, of course. He believes my infatuation lies with Shaun, who has on more than one occasion confided in the prince and confessed his feelings for me but he was a night of fun I’d had. Louis is who I’ve been… who I’ve wanted to— you get the idea, yeah?” 

Harry questioned what led him to this moment. What led this specific knight into believing he could tell a near complete stranger his biggest secret and actually confide in him. Whatever had, whichever path he’d taken, he was hoping was blocked now because he couldn’t do this again. Couldn’t force a smile despite the sudden pain ravaging his body and offer words of encouragement to the scared man; telling him everything would be okay even if Harry felt like he was dying. 

He left after that, wishing Arthur good luck in his mission and he quietly crept out of the kingdom once more and just.. left. Not to a place where existing was anything more than just a thought. A plane where his own body wasn’t something he could feel, just for the sake of escaping the pain that seemed to haunt him even in his thoughts.

He didn’t explain why he was opting out of dinner that night: didn’t give Louis a reason why or even greet him like he did after everyday he randomly disappeared and came back with no explanation. 

Louis yelled at him the next day for it, and it didn’t go by without Harry’s notice that the bracelet was absent from around his wrist, Arthur was hovering at the gates behind them with a permanent pout, and Harry’s necklace laid claiming against Louis’ chest. Out on display when days ago it had been tucked beneath his shirt. 

Arthur and his advances on Louis was never mentioned again, and the knight was somehow easily forgotten the second Louis tackled Harry to the floor in his bed chambers and tickled the man until he was breathless and all giggled out, tears leaving trails on his flushed cheeks. “Abandon our dinner plans again without letting me know hours in advance and I’ll tickle you until you pee yourself!” Louis had threatened, him too breathless from his place perched over Harry, straddling his hips with his hands braced on Harry’s chest. 

Any other setting, and Harry would have caught the intimate moment the second it happened. But he somehow missed when Louis drug his hands down his chest and moved them to rest at the bottom of Harry’s stomach, spanning across his waistline so his fingertips met in the middle and his palms pressed firmly against his jutting hip bones. Louis was feeling him without Harry realizing it, tracing what he could while he could, and it was only when the boy leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s cheek that he was made aware of their position. Of the burning trails his fingertips had left down his torso like razor blades had just kissed his skin in long gashes. 

That night, Louis unknowingly made himself Harry’s again, without truly being his. A cycle that could never be broken. 

—-

“Your parents,” Louis began one day as they scoured the bed of sand for shells and rocks, treasures, “were they married?” 

Harry stuffs his hand into the wet sand that hangs at the edge of the sand barrier, the overlapping water washing up his hand to the wrist before it is sucked back down and he grabs the tiny black rock with white striking through it like bursts of lightning and offers it to Louis with a grin. “We don’t have marriage where I’m from,” he admits a little sheepishly, standing to dust off his red knees. “And I technically don’t have parents.” He says, but that just sounds too odd so he rushed to correct it with, “I knew my father, but never my mother.” 

Louis’ eyebrows furrow. “No marriage at all?”

Harry shakes his head. “Marriage isn’t the same concept as it is here,” he gestures around them, “my people aren’t bound to one another with laws written; but if a bond is strong enough they can choose to remain together for their entire life.” 

“And where you’re from, do they accept your.. er, kind?” 

Harry didn’t understand the question at first, confusion swamping his features and tugging down his eyebrows until Louis waved a hand over his own body.  _ People like us.  _ He spoke silently. 

“People who are fond of the same sex?” He clarifies, and at the nod he huffs before falling back to sit on his butt. “It isn’t a rule not to interact with the same sex in intimate settings, but it also isn’t a topic that is brought up with fondness. My people are kind, but they’re a little more traditional than most would understand,” 

Louis nods, lips pursed as he switches the rock from palm to palm, balancing the weight on the top of his finger. “Father is strict against homosexuality,” Louis admits softly, reluctantly with pain knitting his eyebrows together as his face scrunches with the open realization that his father didn’t accept him, that he’d never be free to be who he was without being scorned or banished. “Would your father accept you?”

And Harry has to consider the answer for a second, has to honestly mule over the different thoughts racing through his mind to pinpoint the one not born out of hatred for his own kind or biased because of how he’d been treated. “My father would try,” he says, “but he’s never been able to understand me. Out of all my siblings, I am the one he’s always had trouble with.” 

Louis must have sensed the dark turn the conversation was quickly taking, because he set down next to Harry just as quickly as one could blink and was leaning against him with his head resting on his shoulder. “Your siblings,” he says, hand resting on Harry’s knee in a comforting touch, “you never talk about them. Did they remain with your father?”

“Most did,” Harry admits, eyes focused on the lowering sun. “Others left to fulfill their own duties. I was to come… here with the intention of working, too,” 

He was supposed to accept his role as the angel of death and offer safe travel to the confused souls but his wings remained white and he remained titleless; dutiless. 

“You never mentioned a job!” Louis exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at Harry as he pops up from his lounging position. “Or duty or whatever you refer to it as. What do you do? Do your siblings have similar jobs? Is that where you sneak off to!”

“I have a job, I just haven’t gotten around to doing it as much as I should,” Harry says with a cheeky grin. “And no, they don’t have similar jobs. We each have our own specific duty. They do their own work, and I do mine. I’ve just been neglectful,” 

“You’re too cryptic,” Louis complains, flinging himself back in the sand. 

Which is how he was to always remain. Hidden. Cryptic. Offering crumbs to Louis without the chance of the boy ever piecing together the puzzle of his life. 

At the thought of his siblings, Harry feels multiple tugs in his stomach, all in different directions and all equally as demanding. He can feel Gemma, hundreds of miles away, doing her daily duty at attempting to reach out to her younger brother in hopes he would finally return her call but he ignores them. All of them. And only answers the call of the boy tugging him down in the sand so they lay parallel to one another. 

They breath in sync for a while, just staring at one another with not a single word passing between the small spaces between their faces and Harry brands this face into his memory. The crinkled eyes, kind and soft with a gentle smile rolling his lips up to display gleaming white teeth. 

This image would forever be his favorite. 

“If given the chance,” Louis began in a voice so soft Harry was sure if he hadn’t seen his lips move he wouldn’t have even been aware the slight whisper of breath were actual words spoken, “I would marry you, Harry,” 

“If given the choice,” Harry admits in a voice just as quiet, “I’d marry you, Louis.”

He was in a world not his own, and finding everything right in what his father had deemed wrong. 

And it was then Harry was made aware of how pathetically deep he already was in this.


End file.
